Want
by Elerick
Summary: "For want of a Nail a shoe was lost" Scarecrow's rhyme echoed off of Arkham's wall as he watched his new patient pass his cell. Short bit of slash. Scarecrow x Riddler.
1. Chapter 1

Want

Scarecrow x Riddler Slash

I feel a bit guilty that this is fairly similar to my last fic with these two, but when I first started writing it I had very few ideas. By the end I'd scribbled down half a dozen that I'm hoping to put in a series of short one shots with the same pairing.

All characters belong to DC comics.

Want.

It was an odd word to him. It didn't fall well from his tongue and was uncomfortable passing through his thoughts.

He knew what it meant of course. Want, to desire, to crave, to wish for. His vocabulary was far from limited, wants were simply not something he experienced often. Needs were important, he was required to sleep, it was necessary to eat, and he had to continue his research at all costs. Those were all simply the compulsions of living life.

Wants were frivolous and foolish.

The opposite of fear, and fear was all the Scarecrow cared about.

So Jonathan Crane did not bother himself with such things. Perhaps that was why someone so consumed with want caught his eye.

"_For want of a nail, a shoe was lost."_

The Nursery rhyme, barely whispered, echoed off the concrete walls like the words of ghosts . The yellow eyes of a predator trailed the new inmate as he was lead down the hall. Green fabric was washed out by florescent lights, causing it to look sickly. The occasional question mark patterned cut through like a pox, pealing away where they had been abused by a certain vigilante

Edward Nygma. It wasn't his first stay in the Asylum, it wouldn't be his last. Jonathan knew him, had studied him, as he did all of his "patients" in this facility. But Nygma peeked his interests, the sheer number of fears the man had was fascinating. Such an obvious shell of arrogance guarding the fragile core of self-consciousness and loathing. The easiest mark he'd ever faced, chemical methods wouldn't even be required. With just a few choice words he could send the great Riddler crumbling into oblivion and leave his sobbing husk of a body curled up in the corner.

Yes, easy, far too easy. He had something more entertaining in mind.

He could string him along like a toy, draw out every fear and doubt one by one. Days, months of study were entering is layer. His fingers twitched in rare excitement, subconsciously reaching for his long confiscated fear gas canisters. Yes, this would suffice for a distraction while he worked out another escape plan.

The only concern now was how to get close to Edward. Mess Hall seemed a good place to start, then Activities. The man was so starved for attention it wouldn't take much...

The groan of his cell door broke his thoughts. A quick mental review of the last few days didn't reveal anything worth punishment, at least not anything the staff knew about. But instead of being dragged out by barely legal force for sanction, it seemed they were here to deliver him a gift.

By the outcry of intellectual offenses and the following indignant slam of the door it was to be assumed that Edward Nygma was his new cellmate.

_For want of a shoe a horse was lost._

Forming a connection with his new patient was simple. It seemed Edward already had some per-conceived respect for him. The younger man practicably attached himself to his lanky form, and might have if he wasn't constantly being pushed away arm's length when he got too close (research required work but he wasn't about to put up with such things.) None of this the Riddler would admit to openly of course, but the pompous mask he wore might as well been glass. It didn't take much to draw the man in, even for someone as socially estranged as Jonathan was. A vague compliment, occasionally answering one of his constant riddles, playing his little games. Soon he had him wrapped around his thin fingers.

_For want of a horse the rider was lost._

And with the others trust now in his hand he began to twist. It was simple, he would mention his father in passing, throw a half-hearted insult into the conversation, a look, or simply the lack of one. That seemed to work the most efficiently, simply ignoring him. Each action chipped away at the others mind, soon he was have night terrors, speaking less, but it was the occasional twitch though that gave the professor a thrill. He could see the dulling in those sharp green eyes day by day.

_For want of a rider the battle was lost._

Time and his patience eventually began to wane, much like Edward's mentality. It was the night, exactly two months and a week since he first set his eyes on his new patient. The self control he implemented had been agonizing, something akin to what an alcoholic must deal with living above a bar. Thankfully he was not a weak man, and the final tragic meltdown his cell mate was about to endure should more then make up for the wait.

"Jon, are to listening to me?" Green eyes beamed in the dim exhaust florescents. Lights out had been called hours ago. The usual din of screams echoing back on warped minds had died down thanks to the haze of sedatives that now seemed to float around their feet like fog.

"Of course Edward." he wasn't listening, not in the least. Oh some times he did, Edward had enough sense to notice if he simply fabricated every answer he gave him. Besides it was necessary to know one's patients, even those as transparent as the Riddler.

Still, with all the silent grumbling he'd been doing, the time they'd spent incarcerated was entertaining. Out of the drooling, barking peanut gallery that was Arkham Edward Nygma was the most capable of the lot. Not all of his bluster was talk and his mind was an interesting one to pick. Even his attention driven dramatic flare for every little thing was amusing, the seconds before it became annoying. If he was still capable of emotion he might have smiled.

But his fear, the doubt beyond those eyes, the faint thrill when he voice cracked, that's was what he wanted. It was his fear that burned deep in his stomach, a hunger for more.

The last question, or perhaps the better term would be riddle, was how to break him? The choices in method were abounding. Should he use his issues with his father? Or perhaps his inferiority complex with the Bat? Torture him with his own compulsions? Force him to face his own mediocrity? He could force a hundred phobias on him all at once. Whatever he decided it wasn't important, the end was. The end of the mind of Edward Nygma, and the sight of him while he crumbled, riving on the ground, breath forcing itself out of his lungs, body contorted into unimaginable-

"Jon!"

The former professor blinked, it wasn't professional zoning out like that. Edward had managed to get both of his hands on either side of him, planted firmly in the sheets of his issued mattress This brought them closer then he would have preferred, also unprofessional, but he was used to his cell mate's theatrics and let it be.

"What is your answer?"

Edward's voice was strangely serious, far from its usual air of wit and demeaning sarcasm. Whatever was on his mind was important, but everything on his mind tended to be important to him.

With a sigh Jonathan gave in and nodded to what he had been asked. Most likely some riddle or puzzle he would be forced to complete just to get his cell mate to give him some peace.

A sudden softness washed over the others face, almost bliss really, causing Jon to raise a curious eyebrow. Then again, the higher his mood, the harder it would crash.

Jonathan Crane opened his mouth to speak but via the usual turn of events between then Edward interrupted him. However this time it was with his own.

_For want of a battle the war was lost_

What was this? The experiment was simple, controlled. How could it had gone awry? When did he miss this variable? He had studied the man inside and out, he knew his past and present, his wants, his ambitions, his fears...

Perhaps he should have paid a bit more attention to his sexuality...

No, no, it still didn't add up. Besides paying attention to the man he treated his with indifference, even disdain, like he did everyone. In fact, in spending so much time together, he might have treated him the worst of the lot. Facing Batman meant they were all gluttons for punishment, he hadn't realized Edward had a fetish for it.

While Jonathan's mind was sifting through the data of the past two months, trying to find at what point this bizarre turn had begin, his cell mate was shifting himself onto his lap. The pressure and heat of the others body against his own brought a disturbing realization: that burning of anticipation that sat in his stomach, the excitement for the conclusion of his experiment, was still there and getting stronger... and traveling lower.

Edward was still on him and had yet to detach his lips from his own since the kiss had begun. Small gasps of breath were taken between two open mouths, with whispered words of "Jon" filling the now deathly silent cell. The quiet made the obnoxiously wet sounds all the louder, and even worse it made him face the fact that he was contributing to this nonsense. He wasn't sure when he began responding, at first he told himself it was a simple primal reaction from one of the baser part of his brain, but he knew it was a lie. He wasn't an idiot and neither was Edward, they were fully aware of fully aware of what they were doing.

And he was aware, as he sank his fingers in the hips hidden by the others Arkham jump suite, that the burning inside him was something more then scientific curiosity. At some point the annoying little man had worked his way under his skin, a place where few had managed to venture. As he lowered the smaller villain onto the bed he allowed himself a rare smile at the irony of it all. This is what happened when they followed their desires.

"_And all for want of a nail..."_

"What?" Edward more breathed then spoke below him.

"Nothing."

* * *

>If I feel inspired and people want to read it I might consider writing a second half of this from Riddler's point of view.<p><p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Want p2

I mildly wanted to write a second part of "Want" but didn't really have any ideas. When one finally came I was surprised how much of an interruption it was to the other things I was working on at the time.

After this I have a bunch of little ideas that I'm going to try and put together in a collection of these two. Don't know how many there will be in the end but I'm already working on some.

Want.

It was a word he was more then familiar with. Want of attention, knowledge, acclamation, it drove his every choice and action, he was well aware of the fact. He didn't consider it a weakness, far from it. It was encouragement and excuse to play out his skills. Whether with word or invention, by achievement, or cheating, it didn't matter.

Edward Nygma got what he wanted.

The world was full of challenges to him and he was determined to take the prize one way or another. Still there was one trophy that alluded him, so far at least. Every time the Bat threw him into the hell hole where lesser idiots came to die he would be reminded. Across the mess hall or in the yards he would watch his target, one of the few bright spots of interest in the darkness. He had not failed to take his claim, no, opportunity had yet to present itself. He wasn't a patient man but for this he would wait, rushing through such a complicated maze would lead to dead ends. No this process required a delicate hand and the time for action would come.

It seemed this incarceration would be his lucky one. As he was forcibly thrown into another cookie cutter cell at Arkham he met the eyes of his room mate and couldn't stop the smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.

Jonathan Crane had no idea what he had in store for him.

He'd been watching the Scarecrow for some time now, one of the few in Arkham to warrant his attention. Always alone, always quiet, a ominous shadow lurking in the corner of the mess hall or the library. It was hard to catch but Edward knew he wasn't simply being antisocial, no, those sharp eyes were watching, learning, documenting the riff raff that surrounded them and filing the information away to use when the time was right. He was more then just intelligent, he knew how to use what he was given... not as well as Edward himself of course but it was admirable.

The plan was simple, he'd done it a dozen times. Every man had his weakness, money, notoriety even more baser needs. He would find them, manipulate them, then with a perfect plan crafted by his own hand, he would be out of Arkham by the end of the month with a new minion, or someone to distract the guards if they got into trouble. The stone hell hole of Arkham was not a one man job. This time however was different, this time he might have found a partner in crime, and steps had to be taken with care.

It was a pleasant surprise when the isolated professor responded to him, he had planned to endure a few weeks of talking to himself in their shared cell. Though their exchange held more then its share of sarcasm and back handed insults, Edward found himself becoming blissfully lost in some of the first few stimulating conversations he'd enjoyed in a long time. Jon could even manage to answer the occasional riddle.

It was expected that the professor would be closed off but of course the Riddler began to spot cracks in the walls he'd built up around him. Surely he could have pried at these seams and reeled in his catch but he soon found it was far more amusing to string him along.

For one Jonathan had a wide area of personal space, he'd never stolen anything as priceless as the look of barely restrained fury on his cell mates face as slug his arms around his bony shoulders. And though he was thankful to have someone he could carry on a conversation with, Jon's patience was short lived. Sometimes Edward would just keep talking, long after the other had stopped listening, watching the irritated twitch at the edge of his mouth, waiting to see when he'd finally reach the end of his rope.

It was a strange compulsion, to irritate the man he'd had his sights on, but he couldn't resist. When the serious cold, collected exterior cracked with frustration it was fascinating, a side he had yet to experience. Perhaps it was the fact that he could warrant such attention that no one else was receiving from the far off professor. As the days together waned on he began to notice that he was speaking of things he'd never told anyone before, not even the therapists he was forced to tolerate every week, each word he said collected behind those sharp yellow eyes.

It wasn't right, he was the Riddler, he should be the one manipulating the situation. At some point when he touched him his hands began to shake, when he spoke to him his voice began to crack. He put off the answer as long as he could, but the evidence hit hard when he began to have the dreams. Horrid things they were, causing him to toss and turn through out the night. The morning only came with flashes, intimate scenes of sweat and heat, twisted sheets and a flush of shame that lingered over his face the rest of the day. He couldn't tell Jonathan, he could never tell him, so he claimed they were nightmares, gave the former psychology professor all the info he could ever mull over under the guise of hysteria, as long as he didn't know the truth.

But as the weeks turned into months and many a night was wasted staring at the plaster ceiling, desperately trying to keep back the dreams that came when he closed his eyes, he began to wonder... what if Jon would understand? He'd told him things he wouldn't tell his lackeys, his therapist, even under threat of the Bat, and despite the bitter layer of cynicism Jonathan didn't laugh, didn't mock, didn't critique, he just listened and analyzed silently.

He didn't need this awkwardness to be shared, and with Jon he didn't expect it to be, but keeping quiet was becoming to difficult to stand. No one should be forced to spend twenty-four hours with an unrequited interest, too many intimate things on show, too many words barely unsaid.

So that night, Edward Nygma decided was going to end it, he would trust Jonathan with the thing most precious too him, his dignity, and hope he treated it with care.

Of course he had to get him to pay attention first.

"Jon, are you listening to me?"

He managed to get those eyes out of whatever space they were staring off into. God, they seemed to glow in the dark, a nocturnal predator in the grass, they gave him shivers, some of them in the wrong places.

"Of course, Edward." now he was under those eyes, analyzing every move he made. A small part of him felt nervous, but in his own guilty pleasure he reveled in the attention.

What if he could be under those eyes all the time?

"Jonathan..." But how to tell him, for the first time he could recall he couldn't think of a single word to say. It was stupid, speechlessness was something that plagued lesser men, not the Riddler...

Of course, he WAS the Riddler! how else would possibly do this?

"Riddle me this, Spooky, I am of use to no one, yet bliss to two. A boy gets me for nothing, a young man has to lie for me and an old man has to buy me. I am a baby's right, a lover's privilege, and a hypocrite's mask. To a young girl I am faith, to a married women, hope, and to an old maid, charity. What am I?"

Silence, he had been so confident with his riddle, now it felt as though the words were stuck to his throat. Jon knew the answer, he always seemed to know the answer. Could he have actually stumped him? What was he going to do then?

…shit...

"Jon!" the name came out without a thought, sounding a little too desperate to his ears then he would have preferred

On cue the professor nodded, Edward hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until he let it out. Yes, he agreed to it. He not only figured out the riddle but he said yes.

A kiss, yes to a kiss.

He would have found it disgustingly sentimental if he wasn't so ecstatic.

Before either of them could have a chance to regain their senses Edward leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the "God of Fear" with a smile on his face. His lips were dry and ill kept, they responded with awkwardness of chess club teenager, and he wouldn't have expected or wanted anything else with him.

In the silent darkness of night in Arkham, the sounds of mouths moving against each other and the soft shuffle of fabric and sheets were all that they could hear. Soon even that was drowned out by the beating of his own heart in his ears and in other places.

That was perhaps why he couldn't make sense of what Jonathan had said under his breath, something rhythmic, a nursery rhythm no doubt.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

And when he pressed him down against the sheets it didn't matter.


End file.
